


the midnight oil

by bambirouge



Series: kindred [1]
Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Casual Sex, Creampie, M/M, Slice of Life, but also FEELINGS, oh no, werewolf!yangyang, witch!sicheng
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-05
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:29:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,532
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27398776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bambirouge/pseuds/bambirouge
Summary: Sicheng’s skin is flushed, no doubt from leaning over whatever potion he’s brewing. The robe drips from his figure in some sort of smooth, translucent material; it’s slid far enough down his shoulder that one of his nipples is out in the open, although the rest of his chest is visible under the thin fabric. He’s wearing loose-fitting pants and thank gods he isn’t fully naked, Yangyang thinks, because if he was Yangyang might’ve fainted on the spot.“Were you expecting me?” Yangyang asks, pitching his voice low as he lets his eyes sweep down the length of Sicheng’s body.“Not everything is about you,” Sicheng replies. Nevertheless, he steps over the threshold and hooks a finger in one of Yangyang’s belt loops, pulling him closer.“You were,” Yangyang breathes. “You were expecting me.”
Relationships: Dong Si Cheng | WinWin/Liu Yang Yang
Series: kindred [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2056065
Comments: 17
Kudos: 62





	the midnight oil

**Author's Note:**

> well! here we are. apparently spooky szn isn't over yet.
> 
> thanks to em and silk for enabling me/handholding/screaming !! I hope y'all have as much fun reading this as we did talking about it. <3
> 
> quick note: there is unprotected sex in this one but it's between two parties who have previously talked about and agreed upon it! practice safe sex, kids!!

The street has been recently paved, but Yangyang came prepared. He fiddles with the collection of small stones in his pocket as he comes to a stop in front of the building, stepping back a few paces so he can see into the window on the second floor. It’s mostly dark, since the living room light isn’t on, but there’s a faint glow from inside that tells Yangyang its inhabitant is still awake.

A spray of nerves shoots up his throat but he swallows it down.

He takes a few of the stones in his hand and begins to throw them, careful not to use his full strength in case the window should break. It only takes a few minutes before a figure comes to it, backlit from the orange glow that seeps out from the apartment.

Sicheng’s dressed a sheer black robe despite the cold, tied loosely enough that it slides off one shoulder. He leans on the windowsill with a liquid ease that makes Yangyang’s insides turn to putty.

“You’re not supposed to be out this late,” Sicheng says with a smirk. He knows that Yangyang knows this, and that he doesn’t care.

“You gonna rat me out?” Yangyang gives him a sideways grin.

“Maybe.”

“And what would you gain from that?”

Sicheng’s sigh is audible from two floors down. He purses his lips in the suggestion of a smile. “You know it’s dangerous out here at night.”

Yangyang puffs out his chest. “I can handle it. I’m able to control my transformations, now.”

“Is that so?”

“Ask Ten. He’s seen it.”

“Maybe I will.”

Sicheng’s gaze is dark and heady as always, and Yangyang shivers as he feels himself being scrutinized. He’s aware of Sicheng’s fondness for moments like these, moments where he makes sure Yangyang knows who still holds the power here. Yangyang can’t help but test him.

“So, can I come up?”

Sicheng’s chin tips up, ever so slightly. Enough so his eyes look a shade darker, so the line of his jaw appears a little more sharp.

“You may.”

Yangyang does. Sicheng buzzes him in and he practically clambers up the stairs, tripping over himself as the memory of soft flesh under his hands melts like honey on his tongue. The smell of sage and something bitter he can’t place surrounds the door to Sicheng’s apartment, and Yangyang knocks rapidly, three times.

Up close, Sicheng is even more devastating.

His skin is flushed, no doubt from leaning over whatever potion he’s brewing. The robe drips from his figure in some sort of smooth, translucent material; it’s slid far enough down his shoulder that one of his nipples is out in the open, although the rest of his chest is visible under the thin fabric. He’s wearing loose-fitting pants and thank _gods_ he isn’t fully naked, Yangyang thinks, because if he was Yangyang might’ve fainted on the spot.

“Were you expecting me?” Yangyang asks, pitching his voice low as he lets his eyes sweep down the length of Sicheng’s body.

“Not everything is about you,” Sicheng replies. Nevertheless, he steps over the threshold and hooks a finger in one of Yangyang’s belt loops, pulling him closer.

“You were,” Yangyang breathes. “You were expecting me.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny—”

“You were.”

Sicheng lets out a frustrated huff. “Do you ever shut up?”

Yangyang chuckles. “You should know the answer to that by now.”

Sicheng’s tongue pokes out to rest on his lower lip, and Yangyang gets distracted watching his eyelashes as they flick up and down. Sicheng is always _observing_ him, always taking him apart, and while it makes Yangyang nervous he can’t deny the thrill that comes in tandem.

“Come on,” Sicheng says, finally. He takes hold of Yangyang’s wrist and leads him inside.

The very air feels gauzy inside Sicheng’s apartment, like it always does. Yangyang doesn’t know how he gets away with the amount of incense he burns in here—it’s probably a witch thing. There’s probably some landlord-calming spell Sicheng has readily available for when management comes knocking on his door.

“It’s been awhile,” Sicheng remarks, dropping Yangyang’s wrist. He continues toward the kitchen where a pot of _something_ is bubbling on the stove.

“Did you miss me?”

Sicheng’s glare is withering even from far away. Yangyang smiles despite it.

“Kun’s been keeping an eye on me after what happened,” Yangyang continues. “I haven’t been allowed out much.”

“That never stopped you before.” Sicheng stirs the pot, haloed by drying herbs strung out across the kitchen. He’s so beautiful that sometimes Yangyang feels like he’s dreaming, like Sicheng’s whole apartment is some magnificent hallucination. “It’s not stopping you now.”

“He and Ten are... _distracted_ tonight. Honestly, I would’ve snuck out even if I didn’t plan to come here. The walls are thin.”

Sicheng stops stirring, staring down at the spoon. “What news.”

“Sure is.” Yangyang takes slow steps to the kitchen, dragging out the tension brewing thick and hot between them. “But I didn’t come here to talk about them.”

Sicheng puts the spoon down on the counter and turns to face Yangyang fully, angling his body like a snake so Yangyang’s eyes snag on its dips and curves. Yangyang falls for it, hook, line, and sinker.

“Tell me, what did you come here to do?”

It’s clearly an invitation. Yangyang reaches the kitchen and extends his hand to Sicheng, who takes it; he guides Yangyang’s palm onto the jut of his hipbone and presses down, a silent request.

“I’d rather show you,” Yangyang breathes. He’s inches from Sicheng’s mouth, now, holding back shivers of anticipation. Sicheng’s jaw clenches as he grabs the front of Yangyang’s shirt and pulls, jerking him forward.

“Then show me.”

Yangyang kisses him, parched, starving. He barely resists a moan of relief at the feeling of Sicheng’s lips, the way he immediately licks into Yangyang’s waiting mouth. His left hand joins his right on Sicheng’s hips, unable to keep from digging in—but he knows Sicheng likes it like this, a little rough. It’s why he keeps inviting Yangyang back.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Yangyang rasps. He noses at Sicheng’s pulse point where his scent is the strongest, darkly sweet like cinnamon or cloves. He presses a kiss to the spot, then drags his lips down the length of Sicheng’s neck to sink his teeth into his collarbone. Sicheng makes a strangled, feral noise.

“It’s only been a week,” Sicheng responds, short of breath. His hand tangles in Yangyang’s hair.

“Too long.” Yangyang kisses back up to Sicheng’s ear, where he breathes against the shell. “You were in my dreams. I kept waking up hard next to Lucas—do you know how many boners I’ve had to hide this week?”

Sicheng laughs, light and airy. “You’re an eager little pup, aren’t you?”

“You do it to me.” Yangyang finally closes in, rutting against Sicheng’s thigh. “I just can’t get enough of you.”

“Haven’t you ever heard of having too much of a good thing?”

Yangyang pants as Sicheng takes hold of his chin, gazing at him with hooded eyes.

“Impossible.”

This kiss is just as hungry. Yangyang wants to devour Sicheng, eat him whole; he knows that if he begs Sicheng will let him. And he’ll beg. He’ll plead with Sicheng the whole night if that’s what Sicheng desires.

“Can I fuck you tonight?”

Sicheng’s fingers dig into his back as he sucks in a breath. He bites down on Yangyang’s lower lip and draws back with it still in between his teeth, careless—Yangyang could be imagining it, but there’s something startlingly desperate in the way Sicheng is touching him. He decides he won’t have to beg, then, when Sicheng leans in to say:

“I’d be disappointed if you didn’t.”

All at once, the dam breaks. Yangyang snarls and captures Sicheng’s lips again, beginning to tug him toward the bedroom, but Sicheng stops him.

“Take me here,” Sicheng breathes, “right here in the kitchen.”

Yangyang grins. “In front of the window?”

“It’s late, no one will see.”

“But you’d like it if they did, wouldn’t you?” Yangyang flips Sicheng so he’s bent over the counter, robe slipping completely from his shoulders. “You’d like it if someone happened to walk by and see me ruining you like this.”

Sicheng straightens up, reaching behind him to squeeze the bulge in Yangyang’s pants. Yangyang yelps, his hand grasping at Sicheng’s.

“Who says I’ll be the one getting ruined?”

Yangyang moans unabashedly as Sicheng squeezes once more, then lets go. He presses back into Yangyang’s body, freeing his hands to slide his pants down his thighs, and Yangyang’s mouth waters when he realizes Sicheng’s lack of underwear.

“I’m ready,” Sichen murmurs, turning his head to press an open-mouthed kiss to Yangyang’s cheek. “I prepared myself.”

Yangyang exhales a laugh. “You _were_ expecting me.”

Sicheng doesn’t answer. He only rolls his hips back into Yangyang’s, drawing another pained groan from his mouth; Yangyang takes hold of his hips and ruts into them quick and rough.

 _“Fuck,”_ he growls, frantically undoing his button and zip. “Fuck, fuck—”

“ _Hurry._ ”

“I’m trying—!” Yangyang finally shoves his jeans out of the way and gasps as he takes himself out, painfully hard and leaking. He presses himself up against Sicheng’s ass and rubs against it a few times before Sicheng hisses and reaches back to claw at his hip.

“Don’t tease.”

“Not teasing,” Yangyang grits out. Sicheng twists around and swiftly takes hold of Yangyang’s jaw again, holding him in place.

“Come on, Yangyang. Fuck me.”

Yangyang replies by leaning forward and kissing him messily, hot and wanton. He can’t _stop_ , Sicheng is just that addictive, he keeps drawing Yangyang back to him like he has his own magnetic field.

Yangyang lines himself up and pushes in slowly, although Sicheng is clearly loose from whatever mischief he’d gotten up to before Yangyang arrived. He lets out a choked-off moan as he bottoms out and Sicheng’s voice rises to meet his, gravelly and strained with want.

“Sicheng, _fuck.”_ Yangyang is breathing hard, barely under control. He thinks he has an idea of what Sicheng wants from him tonight but he’s still cautious to let go completely; usually Sicheng doesn’t allow him this much.

“More,” Sicheng pants, and it’s all the permission Yangyang needs.

He thrusts once, hard, just to hear Sicheng cry out. It lights a fire deep in his belly, and on the next thrust he sets a punishing pace, gaining energy with each swell of Sicheng’s voice that bounces off the walls of the kitchen.

 _“Yangyang,”_ Sicheng wails, and Yangyang has never heard his name called in such desperation. “Fuck—harder, _harder_ —”

Yangyang goes harder, one hand pressed to the back of Sicheng’s neck as he pins him to the counter. He’s used to a push and pull, an exchange, but this feels like a different beast; for once, Sicheng is just as eager as he is and willing to let him take what he needs without reprimand.

“C’mere,” Yangyang says, pulling out to turn Sicheng around. He pulls him close as they kiss, stumbling backward into the fridge where Yangyang flips them again to press Sicheng against its surface. Sicheng looks absolutely indecent like this, his robe hanging around his hips and stained with the results of their frenzied coupling. There are already marks littering his skin where Yangyang has bitten him, scattered across his neck and collarbone, and for a wild moment Yangyang entertains the idea of Sicheng showing them off in the light of day, a sign of who he belongs to—rather, who belongs to him.

“You’re so—” He kisses Sicheng’s jaw. “—fucking beautiful.”

“Don’t get sentimental,” Sicheng replies, but he’s smiling, and he only ever smiles when he likes whatever has just come out of Yangyang’s mouth. Yangyang smiles back and it’s all teeth when they kiss, sloppy, unrefined.

He takes hold of the underside of Sicheng’s thighs and uses his strength to lift Sicheng up against the fridge; when he enters Sicheng again, they moan into each other’s mouths, all pretense of aloofness gone.

“God—right there—”

Yangyang hits the spot again, and again, and soon he’s fucking Sicheng at a furious pace as Sicheng cries out with every snap of his hips. He miscalculates his hold on Sicheng a little and suddenly they’re toppling to the side, Sicheng just managing to catch them on the nearby table.

“Fuck,” Yangyang giggles, “sorry—”

“Don’t stop,” Sicheng replies, breathless. Yangyang turns Sicheng around and pushes back into him, slick with sweat, chest heaving with exertion. Sicheng is glistening under the dull glow of the kitchen lights and he’s gazing over his shoulder at Yangyang like he’ll die without his cock inside him. It’s dizzying.

Yangyang fucks him with a rampant passion, something tight and tense in his stomach rapidly unspooling. He’s sure the neighbors are all awake by now from the ruckus they’re making, between the sharp slaps of their skin meeting, the table knocking against the wall, the volume of their shouts. Sicheng’s reach a new level when Yangyang gets the angle right again and he throws a hand out to grab onto something, only to swear venomously when he knocks a jar of some mysterious herb onto the floor.

“Shit,” Yangyang says, slowing, “should we—”

“Don’t _stop,”_ Sicheng pleads, “I’m close, I’m so close—”

It urges Yangyang to drive into him even harder, throwing his head back as he feels his own release approaching.

“God, _baby_ , you feel so fucking good, you’re gonna make me come—”

“Come inside me,” Sicheng moans, “Come inside me, I want it.”

 _“Fuck_ —Sicheng— _”_

Yangyang squeezes his eyes shut, and he’s so tantalizingly _close_ after a whole week of no privacy, of cold showers and morning wood, he can’t take it—

 _“Coming,”_ Sicheng gasps, just as Yangyang tips over the edge. He presses his chest against Sicheng’s back and buries himself impossibly deep in Sicheng’s ass as he pumps into him, spitting a string of curses and variations of Sicheng’s name.

They marinate in the silence afterward. Yangyang’s brain races to catch up to what’s just transpired; Sicheng has never allowed him to come inside before, much less asked for it. Yangyang’s insides clench at the memory of the pet name that had slipped out of his mouth, but if anything, it seemed to spur Sicheng on.

For once, he can’t think of anything smart to say. He presses his lips to Sicheng’s shoulder.

“Can you stand?” he asks instead, softly. Sicheng nods and Yangyang pulls out with a grimace.

“Be careful,” Sicheng croaks. “The glass.”

“Right.”

Yangyang stands there for a moment, shirt rucked up to his armpits, cock sensitive in the open air. He hasn’t even taken his shoes off.

“I know this is weird timing,” Yangyang starts, “but would you—would you ever—”

“—Do _not_ ask me on a date while your cum is still dripping out of me.”

Yangyang swallows. The nerves are back, all of the sudden. “Okay.”

He pulls up his pants and tucks himself back in. Sicheng hasn’t moved from his position; he’s still bent over the table, ass up, robe thrown over his back. Yangyang reaches out to touch his hip gently, a reminder of his presence.

“Where’s your broom?”

Sicheng heaves a sigh. He lifts his head and a shock of _something_ flies through Yangyang all the way down to his toes—he’s pink, and his lips are swollen from crushing them against Yangyang’s.

“Just hand me my wand, it’ll be faster.” Sicheng nods to the right. “It’s on the counter.”

Yangyang carefully steps through the ruins of the herb jar and retrieves Sicheng’s wand, a simple wooden thing with leaves carved into its hilt. Sicheng mumbles his thanks and flicks his wand twice before the glass swirls up into a little tornado; Yangyang opens the cupboard under the sink to let him direct the debris into the trash.

Sicheng sets his wand on the table and drops his head back into his arms. He waits a few more seconds before saying,

“Actually, I don’t think I can stand.”

Yangyang’s stomach flutters. “Do you want...can I carry you?”

Sicheng pauses, then nods.

Carefully, carefully, Yangyang reaches around Sicheng’s middle to untie his robe, which falls to the ground. He smooths a hand down the knobs of Sicheng’s spine and continues until he reaches the back of his knee, then, in one fluid motion, he scoops Sicheng up from the ground.

“Well, isn’t this a turn of events,” Yangyang remarks as he carries him through the living room.

“Shut up,” Sicheng says, muffled in Yangyang’s shirt. Yangyang can hear the smile in his voice.

He makes his way to the bedroom and sets Sicheng down beneath the canopy that’s become familiar to him lately; Sicheng has enchanted it so the netting floats like it’s underwater. He knows Sicheng keeps wipes in his bedside drawer and wordlessly retrieves them.

“Thank you,” Sicheng says, softly. Yangyang sits on the edge of the bed, facing the wall while Sicheng cleans himself up.

“Sorry,” Yangyang says after a few minutes. “Did I do something?”

Sicheng doesn’t answer; Yangyang turns around to find him biting his lip.

“I did, didn’t I? Was it when I tried to ask you out?”

“No,” Sicheng replies. “No.”

He looks at Yangyang again in that dissecting way, the only danger that Yangyang has the immediate desire to run from.

“You’re not even supposed to be here in the first place,” Sicheng says, quietly. “If Ten knew—”

Yangyang’s heart slices right down the middle as a crease he’s never seen before forms between Sicheng’s brows. He thinks he knows what Sicheng is trying to say and he doesn’t know if he can take it.

“Don’t make me leave.”

Sicheng meets his eyes. This time, Yangyang does his best to scrutinize Sicheng right back, from the marks climbing up his neck to the way his features seem to have softened since the beginning of the night. Maybe it’s the shine that’s accumulated on them, or maybe it’s the way he’s looking at Yangyang now.

“Don’t make me,” Yangyang repeats. Sicheng reaches for him, almost too quick for Yangyang to comprehend.

Usually, when they kiss, there’s an objective. Yangyang is probably hard already, and Sicheng is trying to figure out exactly how many of his buttons he can push at once. But this—

 _“Sicheng,”_ Yangyang murmurs. He’s got one hand on Sicheng’s jaw, curling tenderly around to the back of his neck. Sicheng isn’t using his teeth this time around, he just sucks gently on Yangyang’s lower lip before sending his tongue to flick against Yangyang’s. It’s _sensual,_ and slow, and while not every late-night meeting between them has been as explosive as tonight’s, never have they kissed like they do now.

Hands creep under Yangyang’s shirt, still damp with sweat from the kitchen. Yangyang toes off his shoes without thinking, then removes his shirt, then his pants; he falls into bed next to Sicheng naked and the two of them find a new rhythm, skin to skin.

When he takes hold of Sicheng’s cock, Sicheng _keens_. He whines all the way through Yangyang’s slow journey down his torso, and sighs at the first touch of Yangyang’s mouth to the tip. This, too, is new territory; Yangyang has always been too eager to bother with anything that didn’t involve him pushing into Sicheng the moment he was unclothed.

Sicheng comes on Yangyang’s tongue, then pulls him up for a languid kiss. It’s a little gross, but Yangyang couldn’t be bothered to care when Sicheng’s hands are skating up and down his back like that, like he actually wants him to be here.

“Maybe it wouldn’t be the end of the world,” Yangyang begins, one cheek pillowed on Sicheng’s chest. Sicheng’s hand rests in his hair. “If Ten found out.”

Sicheng is silent for a while more. Then,

“I made a promise to him. An important one.”

Yangyang’s breath slows. “...Are we breaking it right now?”

“Perhaps.”

Yangyang is afraid to say anything else, so he just listens to Sicheng’s breathing for a while.

“You should get back,” Sicheng murmurs. “Before they notice.”

Yangyang’s eyes slide shut. “Mm.”

“Kun’s going to have your hide.”

“I’m going, I’m going.”

Yangyang hauls himself up, already weighed down by the beginnings of sleep. He redresses in a daze while Sicheng watches, naked, from his periphery; Yangyang would give anything to stay here but he knows he’s already caused enough havoc for one night.

Before he leaves, he bends down to capture Sicheng’s lips in one last kiss, walking the fine line between passionate and adoring.

“See you soon?” he asks. Sicheng nods, and takes every shred of strength Yangyang has not to return to the sheets and spoil him rotten.

He takes a deep breath when he shuts Sicheng’s apartment door behind him, the air in the hallway just a little too thin. Yangyang trudges down the stairs, fighting drowsiness; as he starts down the sidewalk, his fingers toy with the one pebble left in his pocket. The street has been paved recently, but Yangyang will not come back unprepared.

**Author's Note:**

> realistically? should've used more lube. did I consider that while writing this in a fugue state? absolutely not.
> 
> hope you enjoyed anyway!
> 
> [twt](https://twitter.com/bambiirouge)
> 
> EDIT: this work is now part of a series!


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